


selfish hands always expecting more

by butforthegrace



Category: Camp Rock (2008)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butforthegrace/pseuds/butforthegrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But Mitchie needs this, needs to consume and be consumed, and Shane—Shane wants something quiet, she thinks.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>it's okay I'm embarrassed enough about my choices for all of us</p>
            </blockquote>





	selfish hands always expecting more

She can’t stop staring.

Luke is loud and obnoxious and filled to bursting with pure ego, but he’s magnetic: Mitchie hasn’t been able to take her eyes off of him the entire time they’ve been dancing and singing.  There’s something in the air between them, some kind of heat.  And Mitchie desperately does not want to admit this, but it’s a heat that’s missing from her moments with Shane.  They’ve both been busy, but it’s more than that. 

Maybe her mother was right.  Maybe you can’t sustain a relationship on emails and texting.

Chests heaving, throats scratchy with song, and she can’t stop looking at him. 

He touches her when they’ve all stopped, his hand light on her hip, only for a moment and then it’s gone and there’s a void against her flesh that she didn’t know was there.  And there is something fiery in his eyes, something more than pure competition as he walks away from her.  As she watches him go, the world slows and contracts to just the two of them, just the space he’s leaving between them.

 

So maybe Mitchie isn’t really surprised when someone knocks on her cabin window, softly, so softly, but she pretends to be when she pushes herself up and looks out and sees Luke’s face.

The moonlight is gentle on him, and it makes her uncomfortable; it doesn’t seem right.  A boy who pushes and prods the way that Luke does should be bathed in harsh light, not the kind of light that comes from out of her dreams.

“Come outside,” he mouths, and instead of shaking her head, she gets up and goes. 

He’s waiting for her outside the cabin, and the moment she’s within a couple feet of him, he reaches out and grabs her wrists.  There’s a look in his eye that she can’t quite read: is he horny? Calculating? Both?

And then he pulls her to him and kisses her, swallowing her up, and she stops thinking about lust and slyness and just lets herself go.

She’ll feel bad later.  She’ll think about Shane, who hasn’t touched her since they got here—ever the gentleman—and she’ll feel as ashamed as she did last summer when he caught her out in the lie about her mother.  But Mitchie needs this, needs to consume and be consumed, and Shane—Shane wants something quiet, she thinks.  Shane is a rock star, always on tour.  He wants something normal.

Mitchie doesn’t.  She never has.

When she pulls away from Luke, their hands are in places they shouldn’t be, places Shane’s have never been.  His fingers dig slightly into her hips, hungry but hesitating; her hands are twined in his hair, grabbing at the nape of his neck, scratching just a little.

“I should go,” he whispers, and she looks at him and digs her nails in and says, “No.”

 

In the morning there’s a bruise on her hip and her lips still feel raw and the cabin door’s been left ajar from when she stumbled back inside at three in the morning.

No one says anything.  Especially not her.


End file.
